When I first played Tales of the Shire back in September 2024, I left the experience disappointed yet hopeful. It had a lot of issues, yes, but it also had a lot of potential. There was a clear reverence for both Lord of the Rings and the life-sim genre on display, and considering the game had been delayed until the following year, it felt like both the developers and I were on the same page when it came to the game being undercooked. Imagine my surprise, then, when I booted up the launch version of Tales of the Shire and found the experience more or less unchanged.

Wētā Workshop's Tales of the Shire feels incomplete. Gameplay is limited and monotonous, its story and characters are forgettable, performance is very rough, and while there's some charm to the game's clunky-looking world and the hobbits who inhabit it, more often than not, the visuals come across as low-quality and dated rather than whimsical. Despite playing it on two different consoles--Nintendo Switch and Steam Deck--both experiences suffered from numerous bugs and visual hiccups. While its mechanics are fine enough and there are some cute ideas nestled within, Tales of the Shire is regrettably unpolished and unengaging--and considering how populated the cozy game genre is, you'd be hard pressed to find a reason to play it in its current state.

Set in the village of Bywater (though it should be noted that the "village" part is hotly contested by its residents and serves as the crux of the game), Tales of the Shire sees you take on the role of a hobbit leaving the town of Bree to start a new life somewhere peaceful and pastoral. Though the game's character creator is not particularly robust, it's also not egregiously limited, and allowed me to create a charmingly plump hobbit with a mess of dark, curly hair, thick lashes, and two minimally hair-covered feet. Using the game's suggested hobbit names, I named my maiden fair Jessamine--a clever play on my own name– and climbed aboard the carriage of a lanky, bearded wizard who was definitely not Gandalf--wink wink. From there, we rode in what would be the first of the game's many awkward quiets to Bywater.

For my money, Pac-Man: Circle is the standout episode of Amazon's anthology series, Secret Level. While the other 14 episodes felt like elongated commercials for the games they were based on, Pac-Man: Circle put an unexpected spin on Namco's iconic character, completely reimagining the pellet-gobbling yellow ball by introducing some harrowing violence and body horror to the equation. It was bold and imaginative, and as it turns out, still an extended commercial for an upcoming game.

Bandai Namco announced Shadow Labyrinth just a few days after Secret Level's release, and like that episode, this 2D Metroidvania maintains the darker take on the classic character. Unfortunately, it fumbles the execution with a dull, opaque, and ultimately forgettable story, while frustrating, one-note combat and egregious checkpointing are further blemishes on what is a disappointing reinvention of the 45-year-old character.

If you haven't seen Pac-Man: Circle beforehand, fear not. The 12-minute episode helps establish Shadow Labyrinth's basic premise, but it isn't required viewing. Either way, you're probably going to feel lost, as Shadow Labyrinth's story quickly devolves into a confluence of cryptic dialogue layered with tropes, sci-fi jargon, technobabble, and bloated self-seriousness.

Bungie had a lot to prove going into Destiny 2: The Edge of Fate. After a year marred by shock layoffs, the delay of its upcoming shooter, Marathon, following poor player feedback during betas, and less-than-favorable views about Destiny’s monetization system, all eyes were on the studio to see where it would take its most beloved franchise next. 2024’s Destiny 2 expansion, The Final Shape, was one of the series’ most successful. It beautifully and coherently tied up a decade’s worth of story, culminating in a tense and exciting battle against the biggest, baddest Big Bad that the universe had ever seen: The Witness.

Naturally, following such a satisfying and full-circle conclusion, Destiny players were concerned about what a new saga would look like. The seasonal content that followed The Final Shape was lacklustre at best, with major character deaths thrown in seemingly for the shock factor rather than meaningfully contributing to the narrative. As a result, player numbers plummeted to some of the lowest that Destiny 2 has ever seen. Bungie’s best-in-class narrative team seemed to be floundering, so when I jumped into The Edge of Fate, I was skeptical, to say the least. I need not have worried. Well, not for the narrative aspect, anyway. From a gameplay perspective, there are a lot of concerning stumbles.

The 14-mission campaign is monotonous, at best. While Bungie has completely reworked the armor and gear systems--more on that later--the best aspects of it are locked behind the now-trademark Destiny 2 grind. With your power level reset and the weapons in your Vault effectively powerless, Bungie claimed this was to put everyone on an even footing ahead of the new saga, but in reality it feels like years of work and thousands of hours of grinding for the best weapons was a pointless endeavour.

After Hideo Kojima's Silent Hills fizzled out as a project, leaving the free mood piece P.T. as the only concrete work ever to be tied to Konami's revival project, it inspired a slew of P.T. copycats. This trend has stretched on for years, and can still be seen today. Focusing on looping residential hallways in first-person while ghosts poke their heads out at scripted moments, many creators loved P.T. but often took the wrong lessons from the legendary playable teaser. At first glance, Luto is the latest in a long line of P.T. wannabes, but it doesn't take long for it to stand out from the pack as an especially unpredictable and unconventional horror story.

In Luto, you play a character stuck in an emotional rut and a literal loop. Waking to a smashed bathroom mirror, protagonist Sam exits into an L-shaped hallway, passes some locked doors, heads down the stairs, and out the front door. The next day, Sam wakes to a smashed bathroom mirror, exits into an L-shaped hallway, passes some locked doors, heads down the stairs, and out the front door. The next day--well, you get it. But where so many games struggle to distance themselves from Kojima's original blueprint, Luto takes this kernel of an idea and expands on it in creative, and sometimes wondrous, ways.

I originally played a demo of Luto a few years ago, and I was surprised to hear a narrator has since been attached to this horror story. The voice of an almost gratingly upbeat British man gives the game the sense of something more like The Stanley Parable, which rings only truer when the narrator seems to comment on what I'm doing with reactivity and near-omniscience. I hated this addition to the game at first. The creaks of the floorboards in the empty house, once so eerie in the demo, were now drowned out by a narrator who seemed to spoonfeed me the story. Why did they spoil its tense atmosphere with this chatterbox?

As someone who has studied, created, and loved art for the majority of her life, I don't mean it lightly when I say that Chinese landscape paintings are among the most beautiful works I've had the privilege to view. Although this can be said of virtually all art, landscapes--be them from the Tang, Song, Yuan, or Ming Dynasties--have a distinctly extraordinary ability to convey the history, politics, and philosophy of a land and people defined by resilience. Just as the imperial stamps often found adorning these works reflect the distribution and transition of wealth and power throughout China's storied history, the content of these paintings is often metaphorical, and reflects the fears, values, and culture of people I'd otherwise never know.

One of my favorite of these paintings is Ma Yuan's "Dancing and Singing (Peasants Returning From Work)," which is not only gorgeous, but does a remarkable job of showcasing Ma Yuan's prowess as a formally trained, fourth-generation painter, as well as the self-expression that would ultimately cement him as one of the artists China's Ma-Xia school would be named after. In this piece, thick-trunked trees give way to wisplike branches; an ever-encroaching fog rolls across the foothills; powerful mountains tower above temple rooftops; and masterful ax-cut strokes, somehow, carve mountains out of silk. It's a truly memorable piece, and as such, I mean it as a high compliment when I say that, in many ways, Wuchang: Fallen Feathers reminds me of it.

Part of this, of course, is because the world of Wuchang: Fallen Feathers' is gorgeous. Across my 30 or so hours with the game, I never once tired of admiring its gnarled trees, mist-soaked mountains, dilapidated temples, and all the winding paths that led me through them. But it's more than that. Like Ma Yuan's "Dancing and Singing," the debut title from Chinese studio Leenzee does a wonderful job of interpreting and reconstructing generations of soulslikes while also adding its own flourishes, as well as showcasing a sliver of the Ming Dynasty's legacy, even if it's largely fictitious. Furthermore, combat that feels fantastic, level design that fosters curiosity, great art direction, and robust systems and customization options that ensure flexibility all make Wuchang shine. Although the overall experience isn’t particularly transformative and the game suffers from dramatic shifts in difficulty, most of the time, Wuchang's moment-to-moment gameplay makes it a great experience and an easy title to recommend to soulslike fans.